Emmet Honeycutt Comes To Town!
by Errant Kitten
Summary: This is a "How they met" story...Fresh from Hazelhurst, Mississippi, Emmett had hoped to go to New York, but winds up in Pittsburgh, with no friends, family or cash...but then...
1. Chapter 1

October, 1996

FOR EMMETT, HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS (SADLY)

Emmett Honeycutt got down from the 18 wheeler's front seat, nodding politely at the driver. "Thanks again, I'm sure." Emmett tried not to let his lip curl.

"Hey, boy, what Ah had you do for me last night, I ain't no faggy, married seventeen years, but ever since Vacation Bible camp, Ah like havin' mah thing sucked-The trucker's harried rationalization was aborted as Emmett hurriedly shut the door of the cab and landed on his tippietoes in front of a Gulf station in where was it?—Ah yes, Pittsburgh.

After Daddy had pointed his gun at Emmett's head, the day after graduation (September, but Emmett had had to go to summer school for American Government class) and bid him to leave town, Aunt Lulah had given her hopeful nephew enough to get to New York ("Where you'll be more comfortable, darlin' though God knows what goes on there.") but someone had annexed Emmett's cash while he was slumbering on the Greyhound passing through Biloxi.

So it had been travel by thumb, paying by mouth (ugh) this far, and now Emmett was exhausted. Might as well spend a night or two in Pennsylvania, and try for the Big Apple tomorrow.

Emmett looked up and down the street. Where to mince off to? Could he actually ask where the queer street was? Oh dear. Emmett had about eighty-six cents in his pocket.

"You look confused, Missy."

Emmett bounced, and turned around. There was the most beautiful boy he'd ever seen. Dark hair, full lips, very arrogant looking. Nice jacket—Armani, but Emmett's practiced eye could see that it was thrift store purchased. But there, he was carrying a textbook on business writing. A student.

Emmett smiled uncertainty. He knew nothing of Pittsburgh boys. Back in Hazelhurst, Mississippi, the men all wanted satisfaction, either by blowing you, beating you up, or one right after the other.

"Are you new to town? I saw you dance out of that trucker's cab. He looked kind of toothless." The beautiful boy smirked as he said this.

"Y-yes, I was hitchhiking, we—"

"No, I didn't believe you two were related." The beautiful boy turned his head lazily, and from down the street came a smaller kid, dark hair in a hopeless bowl cut, dressed in sadly, an ugly McDonald's uniform. You wouldn't think the two individuals would know each other, but the fry cook ran right up to the man-model, and they kissed, right on the mouth, right in the street where anyone could see…Boy the North was different!

The Mickey-Dees boy looked at Emmett questioningly. "New friend, Brian?"

"Mikey, I just saw this poor queen jump—or should I call him a princess…so young. This princess just jumped out of a hideous oil rig, with semen leaking from his mouth."

Emmett bridled haughtily. The semen, if there was any lingering, had died in his mouth four hours ago. "I-I should be moving on." Emmett did his best icy Barbara Stanwyck, and turned to leave.

"Hi. I'm Michael" Howdy Doody the fry cook said, sticking out his hand. "Welcome to Pittsburgh."

Emmett smiled and took the (greasy) hand and pumped it. But really, he had to be going. He could tell that Brian, the pretty one was primed with another insult.

"Where are you moving on to, Lady Jane?" Brian asked, as if he'd read Emmett's mind. "Are you teaching at a beauty arts academy here, or something?"

"I-I was on my way to New York but I ran out of –"Oh, it was so humiliating. To Emmett's horror, he felt his eyes welling up. It was over, wasn't it? His family hated him, the state of Mississippi hated him, shit the Deep South hated him and now…

Astonishingly, the adorable, insulting boy came over and put his arm around Emmett's shoulder. "I don't think you have any idea of where you're going, so we'll decide. Let's go get you some grits at the Liberty Diner…Mikey's mom can get them for you gratis."

Emmett wasn't sure that they could make decent grits this side of the Mason-Dixon line, but it seemed he had little choice. He linked his other arm with Mikey, trying to ignore the effect the grease stains would have on his mauve angora sweater, and the three walked on.

FINALLY MY ASS OUT OF THE GREASY MORASS

Ted Schmidt left the interview jubilantly. Thank God. Mr. Werthshafter didn't seem to notice, or ask any questions about Ted's personal life, and finally he was going to have a job. Finally.

For the past eight months, Ted had been a McDonald's cashier, and he knew why a lot of his interviews with accounting and finance firms had gone badly…they didn't like fags. Not that Ted was so "fey" but somehow people just knew.

Michael had gotten Ted into Mickey Dees, and it was wonderful working together…Ted really liked Michael a lot. But Michael's latest trick had turned him on to a possible stock boy job at the Big Q, which paid at least a dollar fifty an hour more than he was making at the fast food joint…and Ted would have been alone with all the bitter Pitt rednecks, doing the "Want Fries With That" again and again.

Now Ted could put his M.B.A. to use, and move out of the cramped apartment that he and Mike and Brian were sharing. It was a one-bedroom that they'd turned into a three-bedroom by putting curtains over the dining room and breakfast nook…but Brian, on scholarship at Carnegie Mellon, was horrible to live with…fussy.

Ted opened the door of the Liberty Diner, and looked towards the booth where his roomies sat, eager to tell them the news…who was that tall drink of water with curly red hair?

"Ted!" Mikey shouted. "Meet Emmett!"


	2. Chapter 2

BRIAN NEGOTIATES HIS TUNA MELT

"So that's good news, Theodore." Brian Kinney said, wiping cheese from his upper lip. "You no longer have to play piano on the register. And Mikey is quitting too. Where oh where will I get my free dalliances with Mayor McCheese? He was such a bear."

Ted scowled, but Emmett, the new boy giggled a bit. "You both work at McDonalds? I did two weeks at an Arby's once, but the manager and I had a thingie-poo, and his wife made me resign."

"It's so hard to imagine a fast food manager who's a homo." Michael said, shoving a Tater Tot in his mouth.

"Really, Mikey? From the corporation that advertised 'Special Orders Don't Upset Us?" Brian mused.

"That was their ad?"

"Oh yeah. In the Seventies. " Brian chuckled mirthlessly. "We were watching films in one of my classes. It went 'Hold the Pickles; Hold the Lettuce, Special Orders Don't Upset us, Have It your Way."

"Gosh, who'd hold the…" Emmett started

"PICKLE!" the rest finished.

Brian tried to look bored, but truly, his time with his friends was the best part of the day. Carnegie Mellon was a tight-ass school, and except for Lindsay…Brian was basically alone.

Competition was intense, not like in high school, and most of his "peers" were dickweeds, dickless dickweeds (Except for a sophomore Russian Studies major who'd blown Brian in the music room) and he was lonely.

Brian looked at Michael, talking with his mouth full. Mikey. Brian's best friend, since junior high. How Brian wished Mikey was there at school with him, but Michael had only a few community college credits and preferred Batman to Beowulf.

Brian looked up lazily at the door…oooh, hunky fellow delivering a case of Nehi, but probably straight—the only straight guy in the Liberty Diner—wait, wait, his clear hazel eyes were meeting Brian's. Perhaps a blue collar bisexual.

Brian was distracted as Emmett giggled loudly. "I don't know what I'll do for work, really." Emmett was telling Ted and Michael. "I failed second, fifth and ninth grades, although a lot of that was because I stayed home a lot to watch 'All My Children' with my Aunt Lulah."

Brian looked up again. Nehi stud had just handed a clipboard of some kind to Debbie, Mikey's mom and the soul of the diner. But there he was, looking up at Brian again. Those dimples!

"Well, I might be able to get you some hours at the restaurant." Ted was saying to Emmett. "I'm sort of the assistant manager until I quit to go to Werthshafter's."

Brian snorted. "Calling McDonald's a restaurant is like having Popeye be the centerfold in Drummer." Brian rose from the table and began walking slowly to the head. He looked behind him once, and was gratified to see the soda jock following.

DEBBIE'S SEEN IT ALL

Deb Novotny watched with a twitching lower lip as Brian Kinney twitched his cheeks and hypnotized the poor Nehi route sales guy. Shit. After Brian wouldn't see the bread guy again, they'd had to find a different bakery, and Deb had no idea where the next soda supplier could possibly be, here in a shit-hole like Pittsburgh.

"Don't worry, Deb, his buns weren't that good anyway." Oh, Brian thought he was a smart one.

Deb often wondered how she'd begun swimming through a world of gay men—and it had happened so soon! Vic, Deb's brother had begun modeling her dresses before either of them had made it out of grammar school, and then Danny Devore, Deb's high school sweetheart, had confessed to "feeling"s for men on their prom night. And he'd left a queer little bun in Debbie's oven before leaving town—Michael.

Now Danny was a famous drag queen somewhere in New York, and Debbie hadn't spoken to him in many years. She'd found a list of Vietnam casualties in the newspaper, and had chosen one of the names—John Michael Novotny—to be the father to the coming baby…and Vic had helped Debbie find work in—let's face it, a gay diner!

Mikey had grown up doing his homework in the diner, and if Deb believed that queerness was in fact a recruitable thing, perhaps he'd caught it here—but the gay men who bought her chip-beef gravy and the endless lemon bars were nothing but pleasant and kind—and Suellen, the waitress who retired last month—she'd had three sons who dropped by growing up, and they were straight as arrows!

Michael was gay, though, and Brian Kinney, the Scarlett O'Hara of Liberty Avenue, was Mike's best friend, and although Deb wasn't nutty about Brian's influence over Michael, she knew Brian had a great heart.

Brian had tutored Michael through school, and had once helped Debbie out with a mortgage payment with money he'd won playing poker with his dad's VFW buddies. "I spend enough time at your place to pay a little rent" the sixteen year old Brian had insisted, refusing any gratitude or talk of repayment.

And of course Brian had encouraged this new fairy, Emmett to come to the diner, the poor thing had just dropped off a truck from the Deep South. Deb knew Michael and Ted were talking about Emmett working at McDonalds, but she couldn't see Emmett rising high on French fry grease.

Fortunately, Debbie had a friend who went by Floyd during the day and Flora (or sometimes Fauna) at night, who was a floor walker at the local Macy's…he'd gotten more than one hapless twink a job pushing ties or shoes in the various departments, and would do so again, as soon as Debbie made the call, and arranged an interview.

But now Deb could see a number of annoyed male customers hammering on the men's room door. Damn that Brian Kinney!


	3. Chapter 3

NOT SO RAD, BRAD

Brad Fessenden III looked into Lindsay Peterson's eyes. He wasn't sure what was on her mind. Besides the fact that Bradley, Sr. was a partner in Lindsay's dad's firm, and that they were planning to take in young Brad as an associate when he finished law school.

Damn it, Lindsay was supposed to be part of the REWARD!

Brad was handsome, witty, and had broken a few hearts…why couldn't this beautiful blonde girl love him? They were MADE for each other.

He watched Lindsay sip her chai tea latte. What could he do? He'd looked at her paintings (Brad preferred a nice Leroy Neiman print) taken her to the ballet (women liked that) and generally tried to be a sensitive guy. "It takes time" Lindsay's father had said to Brad over tee-time yesterday. "Her mother was moody."

But she's dumping me because she wants to hang out with a college CAFETERIA WORKER?

As if reading his thoughts, Lindsay's fabulously full lips finally moved. "I feel a connection with Consuela, Bradley. Men, just…there's nothing there. I went to the therapist Mother advised, but in fact there's nothing there. " Lindsay paused.

"The shrink actually said 'If you've only tried vanilla, how do you know you won't like strawberry?' Well, I tried strawberry, Brad…we had a tumble in the sheets. I don't want to, anymore."

Brad smiled. "Lindsay, it takes time for a woman to reach orgasm. My Aunt Buffy didn't have one until she was forty-two…"

"But I've had orgasms, Brad. Tons of them." Lindsay smiled, looking over at a shy Mexican girl who was carrying trays. (Lindsay insisted on eating here) "Many, many, glorious orgasms. I know what I want."

"What…what will I tell your dad?" This was a last resort, but Brad had discovered in early childhood that tattling had its rewards.

"I don't know that it's any of his business, Bradley." Lindsay paused. "Even if he cut me off financially, I'm in my final semester, and have a small trust fund from Grammy, who loved me as I was, you know."

Brad shook his head. "I don't think it's got anything to do with the spic girl. I think it's him!" Brad pointed at a sullen looking tousle haired boy lounging by the Four Food Groups poster.

Lindsay's eyes brightened. "Oh, Brian!"

PLASTIC POTATOES AND ALL THAT

Brian had never seen so much of the damn cafeteria as he had since Linz had began stalking Consuela. They had to drop by, sit around pretending to study…and then Lindsay closed the deal, she and Connie were dating, and they STILL had to hang out here.

Brian was almost sure the food would kill him. The Salisbury steak resembled one of those slates that children in Puritan times scribbled on in the one-room schoolhouse.

Brian looked around the cafeteria. Oh yes, Chaplain Tunstall. Earnestly talking to some freshman Campus Crusade for Christ geek, hoping to get in his pants. Brian saw Tunny regularly at the Liberty Baths and was amazed at the clergyman's energy.

Reverend Tunstall, man of mystery. Constantly calling press conferences to "bring back moral values to our beloved university". squirting vats of ketchup on girls doing the Walk of Shame into the campus Planned Parenthood clinic, and yet, sucking every cock in sight.

Good God, there's Lindsay, sitting with a pudgy, balding prep, who looks like a calf about to be slaughtered. Fuck no, she's seen me. Waving at me. I don't want to come over there, Linz. I know what straight boys are like. Why would I want to—But of course, I must come over.

The only woman in the world with the power to tell Brian Kinney what to do, and she's a goddamn dictator with it. But Brian walked across the cigarette butt stained cafeteria, smirking at Tunstall and his zit-faced protégé, and finally arrived at Lindsay's table.

"Brian, this is Brad." Linz said brightly. Brad stood and offered a firm right hand, and Brian, after rolling his eyes theatrically, shook it.

"I am Lindsay's boyfriend, I've been eager to meet her other buddies. I go to Penn." Brad said all this as if it were a prepared speech on a 3X5 striped card.

Jesus, if she were straight, would this be the one to choose? He'd be laughed out of Babylon's Back Room, or chased with a can of Raid. "So nice to meet you, Brad. I've long been wanting to meet the guy who rings Lindsay's chimes."

Brian smiled as Linz's lovely face became enraged. Yes, we'll torture you a little bit. You didn't want to come as a date to my cousin's wedding because you thought I should be "out" and now…

"BRIAN! LINDSAY!" The shriek was heard across the cafeteria. The epicene Emmett Honeycutt followed by a large person in a black wig and a polka dotted dress that might have been fashionable in 1964, ran into the James Mellon Memorial Cafeteria.

"Emmett, what brings you to the hallowed halls of academe?" Brian asked with a smile. "Love the fuschia scarf."

Lindsay rose from the table and embraced Emmett. "You are really adjusting to the new town, honey!"

"Yes." Emmett said breathlessly. "This is my friend Godiva." Emmett nodded to the giant in the polka dot frock.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Lindsay said, remembering her manners. "This is Bradley Fessenden the Third."

"Oooh." Godiva said, with a frightening grin. "I believe I know your Uncle Wilbur. He used to blow me in his box at the Civic Lights Opera, that is, until Bradley the First had him committed to Somerset State."

"Grandfather…is…very old fashioned." Brad said, staring at Godiva warily.

"Linz, I've GOT to borrow the Dramatic Society's whalebone corset." Emmett said. "You did say that you'd owe me for helping with the costumes?"

"But of course, Emmett!" Lindsay said cheerily. "What do you need it for?"

"Godiva is in the running to be Miss Shemale America!"

As Bradley Fessenden III hurriedly exited the James Mellon Memorial Cafeteria, he decided that perhaps he would indeed present the diamond ring to the blue-haired waitress he'd been shtupping in Bruceton, but not before he found Lindsay's dad on the course and brained him with a nine iron.


	4. Chapter 4

Vic "The Vamp" Grassi, known as the Last Bareback Rider (or Ridee, on alternative nights) in Pittsburgh, Boston and New York, sat back and enjoyed the whirlpooling bubbles of the big pool. Pete, Vic's new conquest, who had a face like the little girl who played Laura Ingalls Wilder on that old Prarie show, was not as relaxed.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Vic asked the younger man. "You aren't having a good time?" Vic had been making petit fours at Pete's company banquet, and somehow the two men had enjoyed a steamy tête-à-tête in a one toilet bathroom near the catering kitchen.

Pete, who had been quite the buttoned-down-boy, had gotten Vic's number and had met him a few times in cheap motels and at Vic's place…but he'd never been to a bathhouse. "What's wrong, Mary?" Vic had asked delightedly, "Aren't you hygienic?"

But it's different when you're married with brats and an account executive, so Pete had only enjoyed other boys at summer camps and prep school…and in the Lacrosse changing room at Dartmouth. And since then, just restroom interludes…And, he was a Scoutmaster! Pete had always thought he'd give up the "kid stuff" of fooling around with guys after he'd married, but that just…didn't work out.

And now Pete was awhirl in emotions, apparently, after Vic decided to show Pete what he was missing. A moment before, Pete had surrendered his sweet shyness to blow a burly electrician in one of the little rooms that the Liberty Baths offered…but now he was right next to Vic again, feeling nervous, as if the wife and the boss would come waltzing into the Jacuzzi room together.

"Pete, this is why we drove down from New York to Pittsburgh" Vic said gently. "I wanted to show you Christopher Street and the Everard Baths, but you were too scared. But this is the town I grew up in. I was corn-holed by Roy Cohn himself in the room right next to the one where you were messing with Chuckie."

Roy Cohn. Down here in Pittsburgh trying to reverse the Voting Rights act, or something. Bit of a pudge Roy had been, but Vic had been sixteen and RANDY. Shortly after that Vic had moved to the Big Apple to join the C.I.A., (Culinary Institute of America), where Cohn supposedly lived, but he'd never seen the guy around…but now, 26 years after the fact, in Manhattan he'd met Pete!

Vic liked Pete a lot, because they shared the same philosophy about condoms. They just deadened the sensitivity. It was not fun, and they tasted like shit. Vic believed, even thought many of his friends had died, that he was protected by a Guardian Angel from the new sickness.

Pete's theory was since the disease only affected deviants, like junkies and homosexuals, or those who didn't look after themselves and needed blood transfusions, that it wouldn't affect him. Pete wasn't a deviant, he was an Episcopalian.

"Such a naïve, sweet young thing." Vic said, chucking Pete under the chin. "Everyone you see here—or in New York—would have to keep your secret, because they have one of their own." Vic paused in reflection. "I saw my boss in one of these places once."

"My boss, Don Draper, is a complete straight arrow." Pete said bitterly. "He has no secrets, let me tell you. I started working for him in the sixties, when I was straight out of college—"

"Wait, how old are you now?" asked Vic, horrified. "It's thirty years since then."

Pete smiled superciliously. "Our family ages well. Probably because they stay out of places like this…And Trudy and I both put Noxzema on our skin every morning…"

"It couldn't just be Noxzema." Vic said suspiciously.

"Well, I can't lie, last year I had nose job AND a face-lift. They do them for men, you know, Jews do it all the time, I hear…and I told my wife I have to look vigorous. P.J. is going to have to go to SUNY-Binghamton, and we won't be getting the addition on the house, but I don't look bad, do I"

"Like a Dorian Gray vision." Vic said enviously. Wouldn't I like to have a little plastic surgery done!

But now Pete looked across the room hungrily. "That kid's got a nice dick, doesn't he?"

Vic squinted. "Hush your mouth! That's my nephew Michael." But Vic smiled, and waved the young man over.

"Your nephew…is a DEGENERATE?" Pete asked in horror. "You should take him aside and—"

But as Pete put his wrist to his brow in moral horror, Vic noticed a purple mark on his arm.

"What's that, a bruise, Pete?"

Pete looked at his arm in annoyance. "No, probably a Magic Marker. I was going over storyboards for an unbelievably stupid children's toy, the Pet Rock."

"You're supposed to shower before coming in the pool, wipe that stuff off, I think" Vic said disapprovingly. "This is, after all supposed to be clean…the chlorine can only do so much in the pool."

Pete pointed. "You have a purple mark too!"

"Probably because I rubbed up against you." Vic said saucily. "Here is Michael! And Brian Kinney, the most self centered young queen in Pittsburgh. What's your name, Red?"

"I'm Emmett Honeycutt." The strawberry blonde boy smiled and offered a limp hand. "Mikie's so lucky to have one of us in his family."

"Probably a bad influence on the boy." Pete said, sulking.

"No bad influences here, Pete—see that fella getting his groin massaged?" Vic said with a smile. "He's the associate director of the Greater Pennsylvania Vacation Bible Schools"

Brian Kinney opened his bored eyelids. "How lucky for me that Pop couldn't afford to send me there and also drink a quart of Popov a day…and Mikey, you were a mackerel-snapper, so the Vacay Bible places are hell on Catholicism."

Emmett shook his head. "I had to go every summer from seven to sixteen…my uh, Counselor Mentor used to beat the shit out of me and THEN make me suck his cock."

Michael looked closely at his uncle. "Uncle Vic, speaking of sucking, are you carrying protection? Mom found a place in Japan that sells ultra-thin condoms so you can have more sensation. I tried them…she wants you to."

Vic Grassi smiled in that old Vamp way, and looked at Pete, who also was grinning indulgently at the over-protected generation. "I'm too old to change, Mikey, and too young to die."

"You sure about that?" Brian Kinney said.


	5. Chapter 5

THE RULES BY CRUISIN' KINNEY

"Now if a guy-like that hottie over there, is wearing a neckerchief hanging out of his left pocket, it means he's a bottom, likes to take it up the ass." Brian was enjoying his tutorial to the new boy, though he thought Emmet to be such a hick. A Hick from Hazelhurst (Mississippi).

Emmett made a face. "I was wondering why these men were so damn sloppy. Back home, only trash don't tuck in their hankies."

Behind them, one twink said to another "I can't believe anyone thinks Gilligan is hotter than the Professor. I'd let the Professor experiment on me..."

The other mumbled something about being "Ginger" at his job's Halloween party in '91.

"That's so fascinating" Emmett said. "We didn't really have any codes back home. We kind of knew who was, well, that way. I had a thing with the Fire Chief, and he wouldn't leave his wife and young-uns...but he sent off a definite signal, you know? But he didn't wear some code-colored scarf."

Brian snorted in the Liberty Avenue gloom. "And it gets even more interesting. If the guy has a blue bandanna-especially light blue-he's a cocksucker, loves dick, and if it's robins-egg blue, he wants to do a sixty-nine."

"What's a sixty-nine?"

"C'mon, hussy...you suck mine while I suck yours-"

"Oh, a fruit roll-up."

"Whatever. And if they wear beige, they like rimming, which means licking out your asshole."

"You are making that up."

"I don't see one out tonight, but a coral bandanna means the guy likes sucking your toes."

"What nonsense. What's the deal with the keychains?"

"Well, the keys hanging out of your back pocket means you don't want to host, you have to fuck at their place."

"What's the deal with that old man carrying the rubber Kewpie Doll. I remember at the Tarleton State Fair, Grammy won me one of those at the shooting-"

"Ugh. Stay away. If he's carrying a doll like that it means he's a chicken hawk-young meat. You're too old for him."

Emmett sighed, thinking of Clarence. Clarence had been such a macho, tobacco spitting asshole standing in front of the firehouse.

When Clarence's buddies screamed "Faggot! " or "Sodomite" at Emmett and Kissimmee "Swishy Sim" Dill, the chief himself would just stand around, not being abusive, but laughing companionably, Emmett would swear that he had had enough, that he would ignore Clarence's calls to meet at the Best Western near Brookhaven.

But of course, Clarence would call, and Emmett would go. It wouldn't have changed at all, but then Clarence actually fell head over dick for the night desk clerk at the Bee Dubya, a garnet eyed blond called Thibault.

Emmett felt Brian's eyes on him. "Are you thinking of your fireman, the married one?"

Emmet was amazed that anyone as self-centered as Brian Kinney would deduce this. "Y-yes, a little bit. Things just ended right before I left town."

"Yes...eighty percent of the time the married ones are lying when they say they'll leave their wives, I think." Brian smiled in that contemptuous, cynical way Emmett so despised. "It takes one hell of a lover to get them to really break it off."

"Well, Clare never made any promises, but he- he made me feel like I was THE ONE." Emmett could say this without blushing. He knew it was true. "But it's more like ninety-nine percent of the time, married or not, if the boy's with a nice girl who can beard him, you know."

Brian laughed. "Yes, that's what they say. It sure is. But sometimes things are different if the feelings are stronger. I've elicited something special in a fella with yes, a bitch and some brats."

Emmett looked cynical now. "And he's going to leave her for you, right? He's told you that?"

Brian, ignoring the longing glance of a passing transvestite nodded. "And what's more-it might be good for his political career. He's running for State Senator of Allegheny County, in the 37th District... very, very liberal."

So liberal that they'd vote in a man who left his family for anyone, man or girl? Emmett didn't think so, but he knew how nasty Brian could be to those who disagreed with him. How on EARTH was this Michael's best friend?

NO ONE EVER UNDERSTANDS

Brian was appalled, as he left Emmett to gawk at the Liberty Avenue circus, that he'd actually told someone about Connor. He hadn't even told Mikey, Con was that concerned about secrecy, and now he'd spilled his guts to a blabbermouth queen, a paragon of Mississippi white trash, and he could only hope that Emmett forgot all about it.

Because even more irritating...Emmett looked so goddamn skeptical. Just because he couldn't get a hetero into homo-ness...what did he think? An idiot who referred to the Sixty-Nine as "fruit roll-ups" left much to be desired, Brian was sure, as a lover. Really!


	6. Chapter 6

THE CAMPAIGNER'S HELPMATE CONSIDERS THE "COMPETITION"

"Certainly, Connor IS my husband Phyllis, so I'm a bit biased, but I really do believe that he's qualified to be a State Senator. I think Con could do anything." Larissa smiled at Phyllis Latz, the bitchy interviewer from Pennsylvania Live! at WRPN.

"And you married Mr. Landon when he was Mayor of McKeesport?" the velvety voice asked.

Bitch, do your HOMEWORK. "No, Con was a McKeesport City Councilman and I was a volunteer on his Mayoral campaign-"

"You were Miss Pennsylvania then?"

"No, I was Miss Wilkes Barre-Scranton. I was top five semi-finalist in Miss Pennsylvania, despite my uh, Piano in C Minor...I think if I'd been Miss Pennsylvania at that time, I'd be too busy to volunteer on a campaign, at least before I fell in love...with Connor."

After the interview, bullshitting nonstop about Con's contribution to the Greater Allegheny Passage Trail at the Waterfront and all that, Larissa left the radio station, somewhat exhausted.

Yes, Phyllis, I love my husband. Loved him when we met at Drama school at Penn State, when we both wanted to blow Geoffrey McNeill, Nathan Detroit in our little production of "Guys and Dolls"...I loved Connor even more when he was dating my hunky makeup artist during my beauty campaigns...

And then when I had my double nervous breakdown-I wasn't going to be Miss Pennsylvania, AND I was pregnant by the snake-oil artist who drove my limo...Connor was sweet enough to marry me, (separate bedrooms, of course) And now, every couple of years he meets a nice young man (as do I, two more of which have gotten me with child) and Connor's boys always seem to fall in love with him!

These beautiful young men think Con is going to leave me and the kids (thankfully they're all um, European American so far; but I should probably get an IUD) but what they don't understand is, Con LOVES being a husband, LOVES being a father, and LOVES running for office. He's good at it all...except the wham-bam...

Normally, Larissa felt sorry for Connor's young men, she'd held one chorine's curly head when he cried and vomited after Con broke his heart, the nice boy who designed our daughter's nursery when Con was Chairman of the Scranton Housing Authority.

They all cried and were wrecked when they learned that Con was just that, a con. But this latest one, the snarky little prick who was some sort of advertising intern on the campaign staff...Brian whatsis. Larissa just boiled when Brian gave her that smirk, and quite frankly, she would have little sympathy when the truth came.

And here Connor was arriving, Mister Straight All-American, with his advertising intern in tow, and, incredibly another little twink in a McDonald's uniform. I suppose since they are in the back, I have to sit up front with Willard. Still, it makes my Baptist parents so happy that I married up and no longer sleep around...

MIKEY LOVES LIMOS!

"I can't believe what a great car this is." Michael kept pushing buttons and the window that separated the front seat and back seat went up and down. He'd been briefly impressed by the mini-bar until he discovered there was no Rock Creek Cherry Smash.

Fortunately, Connor and Brian had stopped making out just as the car went into the driveway of the radio station. Mike wondered about this, since Connor was running for office and all, but apparently the limo's windows were smoked, and Willard, the driver was a very old friend of Con's too.

"Willard and I have a deal, he won't blackmail me, and I won't tell anyone that he played Auntie Mame when we were at Penn."

"Oh shut up, you queen." giggled the portly chauffer.

"There's the other woman." Brian mumbled, disentangling himself from Connor's grasp.

"Brian, you don't have to pull away, it's really all right." Connor had tried laboriously to explain his complicated relationship (when his head hadn't been bent over Brian's crotch) on the ride over, but Mike didn't really understand.

Usually, wives didn't know, or they left. Once Mike had been with a trick and this woman walked in on them, and not been upset, but it had turned out to be the guy's mother. But here was Connor's wife, getting in the front seat, next to Willard...and kissing Willard hello.

Damn.

"Hello, Larissa." Connor said brightly hands primly in his lap now. "You know Brian Kinney, who is doing some campaign storyboards...and this is Brian's friend, Martin."

"No Michael" Brian giggled. Why was this funny, Mike thought? Of course Connor and Brian had gotten stoned, probably with Willard, before they'd picked Mikey up, on his last day at McDonald's. Connor had called Michael "Melvin" "Milton" and "Mitford" and all Brian had done is say "Like Jessica?" and they'd gone off on a popper fuelled giggle fest.

So far, since meeting Connor a week before Mike had learned that he was in the closet, and he habitually used pot, Quaaludes, and amyl nitrate...and he was running for State Senate! And, of course that Brian was in love with him. Brian, who never fell in love.

Now, Larissa, the wife, smiled kinda coldly at Mike. It's not my fault that your husband's a switch hitter, lady!

AND ABOUT OUR HEROES ELSEWHERE...

Emmett supported his elbows on the bar at Gadflies-N-Magpies, usually just called Magpies...Everyone has such fun in this town! Emmett watched in amazement as men all around the room were talking, kissing, laughing. And then later on tonight, they'd all go to Babylon!

The free-est Emmett had ever seen the boys back home was occasionally with "film" parties. After Louis Wilkinson's mother had gone to bed, he'd invite the fellows, ranging in age from fifteen to sixty, down to the basement to watch a few nasty films. Where Lou, who had been the organist at Pentecostal Tabernacle, found these little gems was a mystery, although he did drive to Gulfport now and then to help Mama find over-sized dresses.

But here in Pittsburgh it just seemed like a paradise. No one was ashamed, well, as long as you stayed over on Liberty Avenue. Brian was dating (sort of) a candidate for State Senate and who knew whether that fella would make things even nicer for the sissies.

Everyone was happy, except for Ted...who seemed to be making a one-way conversation with a blond airhead who kept mumbling "Uh-huh" and guzzling down the Long Island Iced Teas that Ted was buying him.

Finally the boy staggered off, and Ted turned to Emmett. "I just don't get it, I thought Trevor-"

"Wasn't it Travis?" asked Emmett abstractedly.

"Well, I thought he'd be impressed with the fact that I'm handling the account for the City Comptroller right now. I'm fairly well-off, Emmett, and you'd think a young man would want stability."

As Emmett scratched his head at this fairy illogic, the door to Magpie's opened, and Mike and Brian came in, Brian looking for the first time since Emmett had met him, somewhat despondent...


	7. Chapter 7

HAS CONNOR MET A SARTORIAL CONSTITUENT?

"It doesn't seem like you have a lot of men's clothes in this store, but I'm glad you have bow ties." Connor said to the impetuous little redhead attending him. "I am in a position where a polka-dot tie might be a little extreme for my goals-"

The sales boy grinned at him with perfect rosebud lips. "I know, you're running for State Senate. I see your billboards, and we have a friend in common, Brian Kinney."

God, what a small world. My wife is right, I've got to be more careful. Connor thought of Governor Clinton, of Arkansas, and his "bimbo eruptions" He'd never make it to the Presidency, poor man. The world is very uptight.

The clerk knotted the bow tie perfectly around Connor's neck. "It looks very good on you, um, sir." Did he just run his palm on my chest?

Connor felt his groin stiffen, just a little. (You silver fox!) He smiled at the fair-haired boy, sort of a queer version of Opie Taylor. "So what do you do for fun in our little city? I'm trying to learn more about Pittsburgh as it relates to young single-voters."

"I'm sure Brian could show you the more interesting parts of Pittsburgh" That curly red hair! Connor indicated the bow ties he liked, and the adorable clerk bagged them up.

"I...I'm not really seeing as much of Brian. He's a good fellow, but we-he does the art on my campaign, and I don't like mixing business with..." Fornication. Yes, he'd learned that lesson. Brian had thrown a glass ashtray at Connor after their "talk".

"I'll never love another man again!" Kinney had screamed. "Just fuckable faggots, that's all they'll be!" In that case, Connor had done the boy a favor. Larissa was the only constant in his life, though she was probably spreading her legs for the janitor of the State Assembly these days...fuckable faggots...and what of you, Opie? Wanna go fishin'?

DELIVERING A TED TALK

"Quentin, I really enjoy your company, and the time we've spent together" Ted looked earnestly at Quen, who thought only this man could look fifty-five at age twenty-three.

Ted reached across the table and took Quentin's hand. Quen wondered if Ted was aware that his late father's Cartier timepiece now resided in a dormant pocket. Goddamn, look at him sweat.

I gotta get out of here, Nathaniel says there's an eight ball with my name on it once we pop the watch. Quentin had read Nana's aged copy of "Gone With the Wind" while visiting her at the Home, and knew the value of keeping a fella on the line...what was it Scarlett said to Charlie Hamilton? "This is all so sudden, your feelings, I don't know what to say." But fortunately Ted was doing all the talking.

"Quentin, I have had a difficult time coming out of the closet, you know? But I feel like you've helped me a lot. You look so much like Leif Garrett." Ted's eyes rolled madly. "A little like Shaun Cassidy."

"You used to beat off to your sister's "Tiger Beat" magazines too?" Quentin chuckled as Ted blushed hotly. Teddy wasn't horrible in bed, though he came too fast, and then of course apologized. Ugh.

Quentin's eyes scanned the Liberty Diner. Deb, that old hag waitress, she KNEW that Quentin and Nathaniel had been stealing her tips, but she didn't suspect, he hoped, that they'd also emptied the jukebox last week.

Quentin needed to go now, what could he say, he had to read to the blind? But Ted wouldn't let go of his damn HAND.

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR

Hunter hated it when Mama called him Jimmy. The kids at school and Mr. Nesbitt at the Woolworth's-he was real nice-called Hunter by his middle name now...Hunter!

"Jimmy! Where are you? You little brat. Get the fuck out here. Albion wants to see you...you love Uncle Albion, right?"

Hunter wouldn't cry. He'd hated Mamma's friends, the "uncles" when they stayed over with her...but why did they...Hunter would be eight in September, and for his birthday he just wanted to keep his clothes on.

"Goddamn it Jimmy! If you don't come and see Uncle Albion NOW, you're going down in the cellar for two days...no supper."

Hunter bit his lip and left the safety of the curtain. He hoped Uncle Albion would fall asleep fast.


	8. Chapter 8

CORRESPONDENCE

May 9th

Clematis-

C hOw well i am lerning 2 tYpe? i am goin 2 get out oF reeTAIl and b a secertari yet.

Nclosed is deBbie coX's "one wISh" cd, cannot beelieve yall caNt get it in haZelhurst. i remEmber we couldnt get any gerI halliwell down at Logans records &amp; music, i was all over mr. pulaski 2 order it, but old comb-oVer wouldnt do it, member?

I knew Walker Lee and Jonah weren't going to stay together. Jonah has that ophthalmological disorder known as a Wandering Eye, girl. ha ha Remember when Bubba caught him and Fletcher in the head at the Hornet's Nest?

Anyhoo, all's well with myself and Mister X, the politician. I can't say any more, because X is closeted, real seriously, and even though you are my bestie, Clem...you'd sell me out to the National Enquirer, though Mister X is not a big poli u no?

I feel badly because my friend Brian, that fellow I told you about, him and Mike and the other one, the bookkeeper Ted, they've been such good pals, but Brian still loves X badly, and it didn't end well, and Bri might cut my throat if he knew...but X is such a sweet man, and he told me that he and his wife are kind of pushing each other away.

But she's so excepting of us if u know what i mean. Walked rite in on us at there house in the bood-war. And then just walked back out, Xcuse me and everything. So maybe the 2 of us might live 2gether you don't know. It's so modern in Yankeeville.

Come 2 Pittsburgh and you can have lunch w/ us.

Love,

Emmett

Kiss Aunt Lulah when u c her at church

May 13th

From: Larissa Dalton-Landon

To: the Reverend Dr. Tony Lucaks

\

Dear

Again, I am writing to you, Dr. Lucaks first, to thank you again for the support of your group, Pennsylvanians United In Christ, to the support of my husband's run for the State Senate in Eastern PA.

We greatly appreciate your efforts on behalf of our campaign, and assure you that we support your efforts towards maintaining Traditional Marriage in Pennsylvania, and of course supporting Pro-Lifers for Pittsburgh and helping to dismantle the food stamp and public assistance programs that seem to have seeped the will of the working poor in Scranton. We WILL "Lasso the Loafers and Looters" as you said so brilliantly in your campaign to the Young Americans for Freedom last Friday.

Now about the other tiresome issue that my husband and I are again hoping to quash-there is no evidence that Connor, my loving husband of eleven years was seen in the Sears-Roebuck public restroom committing any sort of sordid or improper activity. Even the hint of impropriety disgusts us.

True, Connor did go to purchase a propane tank for our grill, as we are hoping to host a Morality for the Fourth (of July) barbecue for some of our top fundraisers. (Yes, and Marie Osmond has RSVP'ed in the positive-she will be there, and she WILL sing!)

At the Sears store, Connor unfortunately had to use the restroom, and apparently there was some obscene note written on bathroom tissue that had been discarded in his stall, and inadvertently, Connor shoved it with his foot (Connor hates litter) into the next stall, and Trooper McFarlane misunderstood.

But all was explained to Trooper McFarlane, his family and the nefarious press, who, as we know, is only interested in getting Sam "The Socialist"McVicker into the State Senate seat in any way they can. Connor and I have made a generous donation to the International Union of Pennsylvania Police Associations, and Connor is going to give a speech at the State Sheriff's Ball, and of course everyone, except Max Murtaugh of the Pittsburgh Star-Herald has put this behind them.

So we hope you and the P.U.I.C. will continue your support in our behalf, and accept these four Steelers season tickets for the upcoming season...we know the clergy likes their pigskin!

Best,

Larissa Dalton-Landon

May 20

Dear Mom-

Just dropping a note in thanks for giving my friend Quentin and I lunch. I met Quentin through a Corporate Mentorship Program, and we've really enjoyed rooming together. Thanks for your compliments on my generosity, but it's really nothing.

Quentin loved visiting our house, seeing my old room, and listening to Pavarotti for the first time. He's just learning what the real world is about.

I'm not sure what happened to Gramps's Tylenol 4 pills...and I am genuinely sorry your jewelry box is missing. It will indeed be hard to replace a 1922 Phi Beta Kappa key, to say nothing of the pearls Dad gave you before he died.

But again, I've been telling you to upgrade your burglar alarm system.

Best,

Ted.


End file.
